


She Was Struck Down, It was Her Doom

by Moira_Darling



Series: Criminal Minds AU [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Barely A Crossover, Character Death, Gen, Homosexuality, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Original Character(s), technically crowthazar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moira_Darling/pseuds/Moira_Darling
Summary: Clyde Easter readies the house for his husband's return, when everything goes horribly wrong.
Relationships: Balthazar & Crowley (Supernatural), Balthazar/Crowley (Supernatural), clyde easter/oc, clyde easter/original male character
Series: Criminal Minds AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119839
Comments: 2





	She Was Struck Down, It was Her Doom

Clyde took a sip of his wine as he walked around the kitchen. he pulled it out of his pocket and smiled when he saw his husband’s number. He answered it. “Hello, darling.”

“if I have to talk to another idiot again. Yet another piece of paper that two groups are arguing about that pertains to something valuable…”

He chuckled. “Have you gotten a drink yet?”

“I was trying to wait. What are you doing now?”

“I am nearly finished with dinner. Should I wait for you?”

“No. I’m not on the plane yet. Just got back to the hotel.” There was a creak as he flopped down onto the bed.

“Just imagine.” He leaned back against the island and took a sip of his wine. “I am going to eat a meal. That I have made. Fresh and hot. Went down to the market and got the ingredients myself. Then I am going to finish dinner, and go take a hot shower. I am going to spend a long time in the glorious water from that water heater we spent a lot of money on.”

Crowley groaned.

“and then I am going to go to bed. Alone. With our silk sheets and warm room…”

“you’re a bastard, Easter.”

He chuckled. “it isn’t my fault you won’t take the first flight back.”

“I refuse to take anything other than first class.” He huffed.

“the horror – you might have to sit by someone!”

“You don’t fly coach!”

“I can if I need to. Unlike some other people…”

“There is no need to be a snob.” There was the clink of glasses as Crowley poured himself a drink.

“I believe I am the opposite of a snob. You are the one stuck in a hotel room.”

“it is a very nice hotel room.”

“Nicer than your customized room here at the house?”

“I really should pack my sheets to bring with me…”

“You are not getting an extra set of sheets just to travel with. You don’t even make the bed we do have.”

“that’s because you are here and you like the housework stuff.”

“what am I, your maid?”

“I bet you would look delicious in a french maid costume.”

Clyde snorted. “no.”

“don’t you love me?”

“No. You can’t blackmail me into this.”

“I am trained in negotiations. I probably could.”

“I am also trained in negotiations, darling. And in your wiles.”

“I can make it worth your while.” He wheedled.

Clyde rolled his eyes. “You just come home, and make the last two weeks worth my while, yes?”

“any plans?”

“I could…” he trailed off, straightening as he heard something at the door.

“What is it?”

“Oh nothing. It is probably just the wind.” He settled back, still eyeing the door.

“Antsy much?”

He sighed. “I just got off a case. It takes a while…”

“You need a better job.”

“Crowley…” He jerked upright. “that wasn’t the wind.” He muttered. “Darling, I am going to have to let you go.”

“Be careful?”

“Of course. It’s probably nothing.”

“Of course.” He mimicked.

Clyde chuckled and hung up. He went to the door, peering through the peephole. When he didn’t see anyone, he opened the door. He sighed when he saw nothing out there, and he shook his head. He closed the door, locking it behind him and returning to the kitchen.

He picked up his glass of wine, taking a sip of it right before the timer for the oven went off. He pulled out the platter of chicken and set it up on the top of the oven.

There was a thump at the top of the stairs and he frowned.

He sighed and cut a piece of the chicken off. He ate it, closing his eyes happily as he savoured the taste. “Delicious…”

He turned to the table and froze when he saw a man standing there. He looked at the gun the intruder had trained on him, and then back at the man. “No, please. Come in.”

“Put the chicken down.”

He obeyed and put the tray back down. “What do you plan to do?”

“I don’t plan to do anything.” He tossed a pair of zip tie handcuffs to clyde. “Behind you.”

He caught them and hesitated. He looked around the kitchen and then back at the man who hadn’t moved. Then he tightened the cuff on first one wrist and then then other, binding them behind his back.

The stranger moved forward quickly, pistol whipping clyde across the face and catching him as the agent passed out.

* * *

Clyde woke up with a groan, he blinked against the bright light and closed his eyes again. His hands were stuck above his head, and he experimentally tried to move them. Metal clinked against glass, and he reluctantly opened his eyes again.

He looked around and recognized his own bathroom. He looked up at his hands and realized he had been handcuffed to the toilet, and he couldn’t help but imagine what his husbands response to this situation would be. Something snarky about letting himself be caught off guard.

He twisted his hands in the cuffs, wincing when the metal cut into his skin. He shifted, trying to get into a more comfortable position on the cold tile.

The door opened, and Clyde stilled. He twisted his head around, looking the man up from the boots until he reached his face. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

The man didn’t say anything, just stepped into the bathroom and set a case on the counter and a bucket on the floor.

Military – or more accurately, ex-military. Highly capable and alert. Obviously well prepared, had staked the house out enough to know when to attack. And had obviously been waiting since none of the alarms went off, nor the cameras-

Clyde broke off his profiling as the man bent down next to him. The man shoved himonto his back and knelt on one knee on his pelvis, pinning him to the ground. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded as the man pulled out an IV catheter.

Clyde could swear he could feel his shoulders being dislocated from the angle they were being twisted,, but the man was good and he couldn’t get any leverage. “What are you doing?” he repeated.

The man didn’t even look at him, sterilizing the crook of his arm and wrapping a rubber band around his bicep. After a few moments of fussing, he inserted the needle and set up the catheter in Clyde’s vein.

Clyde winced, and then watched the man run the tubing from his arm to the bucket. “Wait. Let’s talk about this-“

The man didn’t answer, just opening the tube so the blood started flowing out into the bucket.

* * *

Clyde didn’t expect to wake back up when he saw the bucket nearly filled with blood. He knew the amount of blood one could lose before hypovolemic shock set in and death was ensured, and that bucket was just the right size for an adult’s blood volume. He had tried to struggle, tried to reason with his captor. His killer.

But he was pinned to the ground, and the tubing was securely attached to his vein. It was the matter of minutes, the room went dark, and he reluctantly said goodbye to his husband in his head.

So waking up was a shock.

His chest hurt, and it was obvious someone had tried CPR. His head was still woozy, but nowhere near as bad as when he first passed out.

He opened his eyes, hoping that someone had found him. Hoping against hope that someone had found and resuscitated him.

The sight of his own bathroom around him, and the feeling of metal around his wrist disillusioned him immediately.

He grit his teeth and struggled to try to sit up. There was a clang as his foot collided with something, and he jerked as a pool of something cool started pooling beneath him. He stretched his head up, grimacing at the blood that was now spreading over the floor.

He felt his heart sink.

This wasn’t the first time this man had done this. This was organized. This was planned.

And this was not going to be his end.

He felt his heart sink and he mentally tallied up the time left until his husband got home.

Too long. Too much time.

No one would miss him. Everyone knew he was on hometime and not to be disturbed – there wouldn’t be any calls or deliveries…

“god damnit!” he struggled again to get up. “What do you want you bastard?”

There was unsurprisingly no answer, but the bathroom door opened soon after.

The man looked at the overturned bucket and stepped around it. He picked up a readied syringe from the counter and crouched down beside Clyde.

Clyde jerked groggily away, but the man just pinned him down and injected the contents of the syringe into his neck. “What was that?” he asked with a sinking heart as his mind got even fuzzier.

“Just something to make this easier. Don’t fight it. Or do.” He reached to unlock the cuffs, and clyde couldn’t even rouse himself to move. “I don’t care.” He said as the interpol agent passed out again.


End file.
